Page 3 of The Backup Groom
Uncle G leaned forward until his face practically filled the screen. “Amber gets five million clams.”
Coffee shot out of my nose and mouth like a water cannon.
Just about everything on Burt’s desk got soaked, including his nuts. Other items in the line of fire included an hourglass, a yellow legal pad, his laptop, random papers and books, a stack of folders, and his phone.
I held up my hand, still trying to recover from his words that hit me like a Greyhound bus. “Stop the video!” My pulse pounding in my neck and five million clams swimming around in my head, I stood so quickly that my chair flew out from under me and smashed into the bookshelf behind me.
There was a loud bang and a crash, like something had hit the tile floor.
I froze, afraid to look back.
“No!” Burt said, pausing the video and running around his desk behind me.
I twisted around to survey the damage, hoping I hadn’t broken a family heirloom, or worse, an urn with someone’s ashes inside.
“Look what you did to Tony Gwynn!” Burt inspected the headless figurine of a San Diego Padres baseball player that he had picked up off the floor. “You decapitated a legend! We named a freeway after him for goodness’ sake!”
I put my hands over my face to hide my embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!”
“Help me find his head before I throw up,” Burt said.
I was the one who was going to puke if I had heard my Uncle G correctly.
Had he said what I thought he’d said?
Amber gets five million clams?
Convinced I’d misheard him, I tried to think of what else sounded like five million clams?
Live Brazilian lambs?
Tina Turner’s gams?
Five gift cards from Sam’s?
A deprived reptilian man?
Burt pulled out a few napkins from his desk drawer and dabbed dry his nuts.
I was about to apologize, but then he bent down and yelled, “Got it!”
He snapped the head back into place, dusted him off, and placed the action figure back on the shelf next to a Coke bottle commemorating the marriage of Prince Charles and Princess Diana, and an autographed picture of exercise guru, Richard Simmons, wearing extra-small, red-striped shorts and enough hair on his head for a family of five.
“Thank God, he’s okay,” Burt said, rubbing the head with his index finger.
There was no way I would mention that the doll was missing a cleat.
Thoughts were still swirling around in my mind like a tornado. “I’m pretty sure I need to get my hearing checked because it almost sounded like my uncle said he was leaving me five million dollars.”
Burt nodded. “That’s exactly what he said.”
This was unbelievable.
I was going to be a millionaire.
Joy burst in my chest.
Questions dominated my thoughts.
